


Archadian Holiday

by Lady_Bunansa (Alexis_Rockford)



Category: Final Fantasy XII, Roman Holiday (1953)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Happy Ending, Ivalice, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Not Canon Compliant, Parody, Retelling, Sexual Tension, Wish Fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-06-19 15:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15512955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Rockford/pseuds/Lady_Bunansa
Summary: In this retelling ofRoman Holiday, Ashe sneaks away from her keepers while staying at the Archadian Embassy and meets Ivalice's most charming sky pirate.Re-post of a fic on FF.net that I abandoned eight years ago, but finally started working on again.Chapter Six posted: Ashe gets a makeover, and Balthier gets jealous.Soooo sorry about the delay. I've had chapters 6 and 7 written for a while, but I struggled with 8. I probably lost my entire audience again. lol Oh, well. At least I've decided on a total of 12 chapters!





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

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Princess Ashe stood on her bed, running her brush through her snarled hair and wishing she could undo the tangles of her life as easily. Her attendant, Countess Fran Viera, paced the room looking at the itinerary for tomorrow’s leg of the goodwill tour. Ashe frowned, wishing she would go away and leave her to muse over her life in peace. She threw her brush down on the bed and sighed, suddenly discontented with everything she owned. Her fingers absently traced the neckline of her nightgown. "I hate this nightgown." Fran turned to look at her and Ashelia realized that she hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But it was too late to take it back, so she continued. "I hate all my nightgowns.” Getting the thoughts off her chest felt strangely liberating. “And I hate all my underwear, too."

Fran raised her eyebrows and put the notebook on the bedside table. "My dear, you have lovely things." It was meant kindly, but Ashe heard the condescension in her voice; perhaps a hint of jealousy as well. This frustrated her even more. Why did people always think of her as a spoiled princess who had everything she could ever want? True, she had many beautiful possessions, but there were things she longed for that gil couldn't buy. Things she needed desperately yet might never have.

"But I'm not two hundred years old!" She knew she sounded childish, but she just couldn’t help herself. She sat down hard on the mattress, causing it to bounce. She sighed again, picking at the hem of her nightgown. Suddenly, a smile crept across her face "Why can't I sleep in pyjamas?" she mused mischievously.

Fran looked up from turning down the bed sheets. "Pyjamas?"

Ashelia felt like a naughty child as she continued, "Just the top half." Fran smirked slightly, although she tried to hide it. She turned away then walked over to the window. Ashe pulled the covers over her, burrowing in their warmth. Now that she had started to misbehave, she couldn’t seem to stop. It made her feel reckless, giddy. "Is it true that there are people who sleep with absolutely nothing on at all?" Ashe could feel her cheeks heating up even as she said it. What had gotten into her tonight?

Fran looked at her in shock, but quickly composed herself. "It is not unusual for the people of my country to sleep that way, but I always found it...uncomfortable." She opened the window to let in the night breeze and walked back over toward a bedside chair. Ashe lay back against the headboard smiling at her own sauciness. Her ears perked to the sound of distant music as it drifted slowly into the room. Intoxicated with the song and her own peculiar mood, Ashe bolted out of bed and looked out the window. Below her a celebration was taking place in the town square, probably an overflow of this evening’s ball. Ironically, it was a party held in her honour to which she had no invitation. Ashe felt her pulse speed up as she watched couples slow dancing in the moonlight, lost in each other’s eyes. Would she ever feel love like that?  
Fran didn’t seem to notice Ashelia's reverie as she was trying unsuccessfully to locate her highness's slippers. She finally spotted them under the bed and was about to present them to Lady Ashe when she observed her perched at the window with a far-off look in her eyes. "Please put on your slippers and come away from the window. We cannot have you catching cold.” Ashe dejectedly walked back to the bed as Fran shut the window and handed her a tray. "Your milk and crackers."

Ashe received the tray and sighed for the third time in as many minutes. It was something she was getting quite good at. "Everything we do is so wholesome," she complained.

"They'll help you to sleep," Fran chided as she tucked her in.

Ashe's adrenaline was still pumping from the scene she had witnessed below and her feet still ached from all the dancing she had done earlier in the evening. "I'm too tired to sleep," she decided. "I won’t be able to sleep a wink."

Fran arched a knowing brow and picked up the planner from the bedside table as she sat in the nearby chair. "Then you won't mind going over tomorrow's schedule." She cleared her throat and ran down the items with a fountain pen. "Eight-thirty, breakfast here with the Embassy staff; nine o'clock, we leave for the Archadian Flight Works where you'll be presented with an airship..."

Ashe's heart beat faster as she imagined flying off in her own private ship with no one to tell her what to do or where to go. Nevertheless, she kept her voice calm, absently playing with a napkin. "Thank you."

"...which you will not accept."

Ashe’s hopes were dashed to the ground faster than said airship in a tailspin. "No, thank you," she reluctantly agreed.

"Ten thirty-five, inspector of Food and Agricultural Organisation will present you with an olive tree..."

Ashe frowned. Peace was important and all, but really, what could she do with a single olive tree? "No, thank you."

"Which you will accept."

She was becoming cross now, but she tried to keep it out of her voice. "Thank you," she replied graciously.

"Ten fifty-five, the Archades Home For Orphans. You will preside over the laying of the cornerstone; same speech as last Monday."

Ashe squinted, trying to recall. "Trade relations?" she guessed.

"Yes."

Ashe scrunched her face, and chewed a cracker. "For the orphans?"

"No, no, the other one."

"Ah." She paused to swallow. "Youth and progress," she said in a voice that was only slightly mocking.

Fran nodded with satisfaction. "Precisely. Eleven forty-five, back here to rest. No, that's wrong... She scratched it out and added an item. No rest for the wicked, thought Ashe with a grimace. Was she ever allowed a single moment to herself? "Eleven forty-five, conference here with the press."

"And I will discuss sweetness and decency," she parroted, rolling her eyes.

"One o'clock sharp, lunch with the Foreign Ministry. You will wear your white lace and carry a small bouquet of-"

"-very small pink roses," Ashe finished with a groan. She sipped her milk listlessly. Her life was all so predictable. Nothing exciting ever happened.

Fran looked up with a slight frown before continuing. "Three-o-five, presentation of a plaque. Four-ten, review special guard of Police; Four-forty-five back here to change to your uniform to meet the international. . ."

All the items began to jumble in Ashe’s mind like a box of puzzle pieces. She wondered how much more she could stand of this wretched sameness. She knew her duty as goodwill ambassador for her father, Raminas, but seriously, was any of this twaddle doing real good in the world? To her it seemed all for show. She did these things because that was what a princess was expected to do, not because they made any real difference. Nobody cared what she wanted. It was like she had no feelings at all. All at once, she felt as if she must upset the jigsaw box and reconstruct her life her own way or go mad. "STOP!" screamed a voice that she didn’t recognize as her own. She slammed her hands on the tray and averted her gaze from Fran. "Please, stop! Stop...!"

Fran looked at her with concern. "It's alright, dear," she said nervously. "It didn't spill." She gingerly picked up the tray and moved it back to the table, as if a sudden movement might cause the princess to explode.

"I don't care if it's spilled or not," she retorted and threw her face into her pillow. "I don't care if I drown in it!" Ashelia knew she was being melodramatic, but she just couldn’t help herself.  
Fran sat down on the bed put her slender hands on Ashe's shoulders consolingly. "My dear, you're ill. I'll send for Doctor Cid."

Ashe squirmed out of her grip and turned away. The last thing she needed was that sad excuse for a medicine man poking and prodding her everywhere. "I don't want Doctor Cid; please let me die in peace!"

"You're not dying."

She wished she were. At least that would be something different. And if she could choose to die right now, it would at least be her decision. She balled her fist in frustration and used her free hand to chuck a pillow at the smug bunny's head. "Leave me." Fran sat perfectly still without blinking, the infuriating wench. Ashe sat up and shouted with all she was worth. "Leave me!"

"It's nerves; control yourself, Ashe."

Control herself? Wasn’t that what she did all day every day? It was time to be a little selfish. "I don't want to!" she screamed and beat a nearby pillow. She would rather it were the countess's head, but it would have to do.

Fran took this opportunity to stand up, pull her robe more tightly around her and head for the door. She turned back to the princess before exiting. "Your Highness."

Ashe heard the door slam with some satisfaction but decided to add for good measure, "It's no use; I'll be dead before he gets here!" She buried her head in the pillow and sobbed several years’ worth of frustrated tears. What was the use of living if she couldn't live the way she wanted to? A little voice inside rebuked her for her behavior. What was wrong with her anyway? A princess shouldn’t behave this way. There were people out there, thousands of people who looked up to her, and here she was blubbering like a baby moogle. She took several deep, shuddering breaths and willed herself to calm down. After all, who knew what Doctor Cid would do if he saw her like this?

Doctor Cid. The very moniker was a laugh. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa was a mad scientist whom the Archadians revered as some kind of god, or a priest at the very least. According to rumour, he could do amazing things with nethicite, a stone which purportedly contained the power and energy of the Occuria. Ashe trembled as she thought about her encounters with the stone. The soft glowing resonance of the artifact had made her feel both out-of-control and all-powerful at the same time. Its pulsing power had both excited and terrified her, and she didn’t feel she could handle it the way her emotions were tonight.

She didn't know how long she lay there, gulping in the stale, musty air. Eventually, she became aware of the doorknob turning and the sound of footsteps. Ashe held perfectly still, hoping that whoever it was would leave her alone.

"She is asleep." The voice was softly accented, puzzled: Doctor Cid.

"She was in hysterics three minutes ago, Doctor." The Countess.

Ashe felt someone bending over her. "Are you asleep, Princess?" Cid's whisper tickled her face and made her shiver. Damn that creepy old man. She had given herself away. "No," she confirmed unnecessarily.

"Oh." His voice was disappointed. She dare not imagine why. She turned to face him and he removed his long white glove to put his icy fingers on her forehead. Despite the fact that he was such a disturbing character, he was quite handsome, she admitted to herself begrudgingly. If he was about twenty years younger and not such a megalomaniac… Wait a minute, what was she thinking? She was definitely in a bizarre mood tonight. He reached for his doctor’s bag and removed a thermometer. "I'll only disturb our princess a moment, eh?" She hoped that was true.

Ashe decided she needed to speak and break the discomfort she felt with him sitting there. "I'm very ashamed, Doctor Cid; There's nothing wrong with me, really. I just wanted..." She made the mistake of looking into his soft brown eyes, and before she knew it, unbidden tears were coursing down her cheeks. "Why...am I crying?" she managed to get out before he placed the thermometer in her mouth.

"To cry is a perfectly normal thing to do, Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca," he stated pretentiously and she nodded, unable to speak with her lips wrapped around the thermometer. "Even for a princess such as yourself; in fact...especially for someone like you." Ashe’s eyes widened as he looked at her. It was almost as if he knew exactly how she was feeling. "All the rules and responsibilities you have to deal with...Tsk, tsk, tsk..." Her heart felt as if it would pound out of her chest, as he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Doesn’t it make you long for something more?" Ashe wanted to cry, laugh, and scream all at the same time. Instead, she gasped.

"It is most important she be calm and relaxed for the press conference, Doctor." A third voice was heard, and Ashe realized that her personal bodyguard, Sir Basch fon Ronsenberg, was also in the room, likely to make sure Cid didn't try to pull anything. The thought comforted her somewhat, but the strain of the evening and Doctor Cid’s leering presence still agitated her.

"Don't worry, Doctor, I-" He removed the thermometer, and she could speak clearly again. "I'll be calm and relaxed and I -I'll bow and I'll smile and- I'll improve trade relations and I, and I will..." She desperately tried to hold it together, but the more she did, the more she could feel her life closing in around her. Her throat constricted, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She wished she would swoon or have a heart attack, anything to relieve the panic. Instead, she crumpled to the bed in hysterical tears.

"There she goes again." She heard Fran’s voice as though she was far away or underwater. "Do something, Doctor, please."

Ashelia's mind registered the statement and tried to tell her body to behave. It hovered above her, chiding softly yet firmly, but she was beyond all inner reasoning. She vaguely sensed Doctor Cid reaching in his bag for something and then Basch clearing his throat loudly. She turned to look and beheld a syringe filled with colourfully sparkling liquid. "None of your experiments now, Doctor Cid. Right, Basch?" Fran turned to her partner in crime for approval. Ashe saw Basch slump to the floor and Fran bend to help him as if in slow motion. Then she felt a stab of pain and heard maniacal laughter.

Ashe gasped and looked back on Doctor Cid in horror. "What did you give me?" The fluid burned as it seeped into her veins.

"Sleep and calm," he said innocently as he quickly hid the evidence in the depths of his large leather bag. "This will relax you and make Your Highness feel a little happy." He winked conspiratorially. "It's a new drug, quite harmless."

Ashe glared icily at him. "It better be." She lay back for a moment, considering. After a few seconds, the burning stopped, leaving her just as spacey as before. "Well, I don't feel any different."

"You will," he said, his face lit with a strange glow. "It may take a little time to take hold. Now just lie there and relax." He finally rose to go, and relief flooded her.

"Can I keep just one light on?"

Cid turned to look at her with a sparkle in his eye. "Of course. Best thing I know is to do exactly what you wish for a while."

Ashe smiled her first genuine smile in what seemed like days. She didn't know how, but somehow he understood her. "Thank you, Doctor."

The tender moment was shattered by an exasperated cry of: "I could use some help down here!"

"Oh!" Doctor Cid appeared to notice the unconscious Basch for the first time and stooped to help him back to his feet. Ashe couldn't help but giggle a little at the absurdity of the situation.

"I'm perfectly alright," Basch insisted, brushing himself off. "Goodnight, m'Lady," He bowed to the princess and turned to leave, Fran right behind him.

Doctor Cid made as if to follow them, then turned and bowed to Ashe, smiling. "Goodnight, Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca. He then leaned over to whisper one last time. If I were you, I’d make my escape while the lust for freedom is still strong. Let it consume you...fill you with courage and strength...before it's too late." Then he stood abruptly and joined the others on their way out the door.

"Goodnight, Doctor," she sighed, as he turned out all but one of the lights. She pulled the covers up and tried to get comfortable, but Doctor Cid’s words kept running through her head: Escape...Lust...Freedom...Courage...Strength...Too late...Suddenly, she bolted upright and ran to the window, where the party was still going on in the streets below. It wasn’t too late! Filled with hope and excitement she ran to her wardrobe and produced the most common outfit she could find. After a quick glance at the door, she ripped off the hated nightgown and threw it on the ground. Once she had changed into her casual garb, she quietly opened the window and sat on the sill. Swinging her legs outward, she lowered herself onto a tree branch below and then jumped the rest of the way to the ground, _free at last._


	2. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe explores the city, and Balthier meets a very charming yet very confused woman on the street.

Princess Ashe sneaked around the perimeter of the courtyard, suddenly grateful for her years of training in poise and grace. She saw the shadow of a man and froze in place, her brain and muscles working together perfectly in the desperate hope that she wouldn't be caught. He disappeared behind the corner of the building, and she sighed in relief. Her ears perked to the sound of footsteps, and she slid into a shadow with her back pressed firmly against the wall. The footsteps were soon accompanied by the creak of wheels, and Ashe spotted a chocobo pulling a small cart around the side of the building. As the cart approached the front gate, a man jumped down from the front to undo the latch. With the speed of a Quickening, Ashe darted out from the shadows and dove into the cart, covering herself with the bags of linen it contained. She barely dared to breathe, her heart thumping wildly in her chest like a cockatrice frantic to escape its cage. The man opened the gate and got back into the driver's seat, urging the chocobo forward with a gentle click of his tongue. The cart lurched forward, and Ashe ducked to be sure she wouldn't be seen. Soon, they were on the other side of the wall, out on the street. A torrent of emotion came crashing down on Ashe so hard she didn't know what to feel. Doctor Cid's parting words rang in her ears as she was pulled through the streets: "Let the lust for freedom consume you...fill you with courage and strength." So she did. She let go as many of her inhibitions as she was able and just lived in the moment. She looked out at the crowded sidewalks where people were dancing, eating, talking, and just generally having a good time. She waved at a young couple as they got into a nearby air cab and was delighted when they waved back.

Ashe fanned herself with her hand, suddenly realizing how warm the night had become. When the cart stopped to let a group of people cross the street, she jumped out and headed to a nearby park fountain to cool off. She looked around at all the people in their ragged clothes and realized she must have reached the Trant district near the border of Old Archades, the slum of the city. Ashe suddenly felt for the expensive gold locket around her neck, wishing she'd remembered to take it off and leave it at the Embassy. She sighed with relief that it was still there. Clumsily, she undid the clasp and tucked the necklace into her blouse for safe-keeping. She quickly refreshed herself with the cold water and headed back toward Molberry on foot, looking nervously around as she did so.

About halfway there, Ashe began to notice that there was something wrong with her eyes. Images in front of her would periodically flip, like the pages of a book. When this happened, she would slow down and close her eyes, taking several deep cleansing breaths. This cleared up her vision momentarily, but left her feeling lightheaded and giddy. Eventually, she stopped to rest on a nearby park bench, watching the colors and lights of the city swirl gaily by her. She felt out of control and yet exhilarated. A pulse of energy seemed to burst from her chest, and she convulsed into giggles. She slumped over to one side, sighing in contentment. "So happy..."

Inside a nearby apartment building, four figures sat around a table with solemn looks on their faces. "Well, boys, what'cha gonna do about it?" asked the lone female of the group, her pixie-like face leaning forward on her arms.

"It's a serious problem," admitted the man seated to her left. He scratched his bald head for a moment in contemplation before arriving at a decision. "But I think this should take care of it." He pushed a stack of coloured bills toward the center of the table. "I call five hundred." A hush fell on the table as the man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Take that!"

"Confident, aren't we, Reddas?" said a smooth voice with a laid back Archadian accent. Balthier Bunansa smiled his quirky half-smile and placed his gil in the pot with an air of self-assurance.  
"Well, I'm up for five hundred, too."

Balthier played with the deck of cards as the player to his left, a blond boy with disturbingly feminine features, followed his lead and called. "How many?"

The girl swept several wisps of light blond hair out of her face. "One."

Balthier nodded and dealt her the card with a flourish.

"I'll take one." Balthier gave Reddas a card and traded out two of his own

"Three," said the fourth player.

"You're a fool, Vaan," Balthier chided as he rearranged the cards in his hand. "What'll it be, Penelo?"

"I fold," she said resignedly, tossing her cards on the table.

"Five hundred more." Reddas's contribution.

"Without looking, ladies and gentlemen," quipped Balthier with a smirk, calling the bet.

"Five hundred; and, er," Vaan cleared his throat, "raise you a thousand." Balthier quirked an eyebrow at him, but Vaan retained his poker face. Reddas called, and Balthier reluctantly tossed a thousand gil in the pool.

Reddas laid down his cards. "Two pairs."

"All I got is three shy little sevens," Balthier said in mock disappointment.

Vaan coughed. "Er, a nervous straight." He laid his hand out for all to see, and the table groaned. "Good thing you didn't bet the Strahl, eh Balthier?"

"Say that again, and I'll never let you fly her."

"Eh, who cares about your lousy airship," said Vaan. "Come home, you beauties." He raked in the cash and began to count it out loud. "Now, look at that: six thousand five hundred gil. Not bad. One more round and I'm gonna throw you all out ... I gotta get up early: date with Her Royal Highness who will graciously lend me some of her jewelry."

Balthier stood to go, playing with his cuffs. "The press conference, is it? I don't know about you, but my personal invitation says eleven forty-five."

"Personal invitation..." sulked Penelo. "As if the princess would receive thieves into her midst willingly!"

"A sky pirate's work is never done, Nelo," he replied with a wink that melted her icy disapproval into a puddle of flighty laughter. "Oh, well. Calling it quits works out fine for me: this is my last five thousand and you hyenas are not gonna get it." He pocketed his remaining cash, patting his buddy on the back. "Thanks a lot, Vaan. See you at the Princess's little party in the morning."

"Good night, Balthier," said Vaan.

"Stay sober," added Reddas.

"Now what would be the fun in that?" he teased and exited the apartment.

"Where were we, guys?" He could still hear Vaan's voice as he walked down the hall. "How 'bout a little seven card stud?"

Balthier pushed open the large wooden door and was greeted with a blast of warm air, heralding the beginning of another hot summer night. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his tight leather pants and sauntered down the street, well aware of the admiring stares passersby were giving him. He smiled to himself, imagining how he must look to the common masses. After all, this was not one of the better neighborhoods of Archades, and there he was, decked out in his fine silk shirt and embroidered doublet, walking as if he owned the whole bloody city. And in a way he could have done just that if he had followed the path that was originally set for him. But, fortunately, fate had beckoned to him, and now he blazed his own trail through life. It was certainly not the easiest course to take, lingering about any given city only long enough to pilfer a few stray treasures before escaping to the next, but it was the one he had chosen, and he loved it.

Pure chance had led to his return to the city of his birth. Well, chance and tidbit of well-earned intelligence he had gathered from a streetear that the Princess was in town on her "goodwill tour of the universe." Royalty meant money, jewels, and, more importantly, a mob of people that would distract the imperial guards from a humble sky pirate plying his trade. Convincing Vaan and Reddas to join his nefarious plan had been only too easy, and the trip from their temporary lodgings in Balfonheim had been stealthy and uneventful. Upon their arrival in the Capital, the three of them had decided to split up until the day of the heist to avoid alerting the authorities of their return. Reddas and Vaan were sharing a room in Molberry, while Balthier stayed at his favourite place in Tsenoble, which was a little more upscale. The poker game had been a last minute addition to their itinerary when Vaan's girlfriend, Penelo, had arrived in town. She was proving to be a harder sell, being new at the whole pirate trade and the impromptu gathering was intended to soothe her scruples as to the heist. Balthier would rather she stay out of his business, but Vaan was his partner and insisted that she come with them, so there they were. And, truth be told, it wasn't too difficult to get her on board with the idea. After all, no woman in Ivalice was immune to his roguish charm.

Speaking of women, Balthier thought, stopping in front of a nearby park bench. What in Faram's name is this girl doing sleeping out here in the open? He shrugged and was about to continue toward home when he heard a muffled sigh of "Sooooo happy…"

Balthier looked at her more closely with an incredulous expression on his face. He had seen drunks passed out on park benches before, but they were usually male, and never this well dressed. He let his eyes trace her pleasing shape and features for a long moment before quickly looking away. This was neither the time nor the place for ungentlemanly thoughts.

"How are you this evening?" Balthier turned to see the young lady attempting to push herself into a sitting position. She stretched and yawned, nearly toppling off the bench in the process.

Balthier's instincts kicked in before he could stop them. He rushed over to her as she slid toward the ground. "Hey, hey, hey!" he grunted as he caught her. He set her upright and shook her shoulders lightly. "Hey, wake up!"

"Thank you very much, delighted." Her eyes were still shut.

Balthier was beginning to be frustrated, both with the girl and with his growing desire to seduce her. "Wake up," he commanded impatiently.

"No, thank you." She raised her gloved hand for him to kiss. "Charmed."

Balthier stared at the hand for a moment, unsure of what to do. Finally, he took it tentatively and shook it. "Charmed, too."

The girl smiled pleasantly and slumped on the bench. "You may sit down."

"I think you'd better sit up," Balthier contradicted and tried to make her do just that. "You're much too young to get picked up by the Imperial Guard."

Her eyes popped open. "Imperial Guard?"

"That's right. Imp-er-i-al Guard." He resisted making eye contact with her, afraid of losing himself to his desires.

She nodded solemnly and then appeared lost in thought. "Two-fifteen and back here to change. Two forty-five..." She hesitated, looking confused.

Balthier smirked, putting a foot up on the bench. "You know, people who can't handle liquor shouldn't drink it."

Suddenly, she looked up and her eyes locked with his. Balthier kept completely still and waited while she appraised him with her gaze. Finally, she smiled dreamily and said, "If I were dead and buried, and I heard your voice, / Beneath the sod, my heart of dust would still rejoice."

He startled slightly at her statement. "Huh." He gingerly sat down on the bench next to her. Now she intrigued him for more reasons than one. "What do you know? You're well-read, well-dressed, yet you're snoozing away in a public street. Would you care to make a statement?"

She frowned for a moment and then cleared her throat. "'What the world needs is a return to sweetness and decency in the souls of its young men and—" Her sentence ended abruptly as her head crashed to his shoulder, and she moaned softly, leaning the entire weight of her body into him.

"I, er, couldn't agree with you more, but, erm..." His warning system had gone off again, so he quickly hoisted her into his arms and made a run for the nearby Air Cab Station. He hoped the adrenaline would distract him from the dangerous emotions raging through his body.

The Cab Guide greeted him as he approached. He pushed a button, and the door to the cab opened. Balthier carefully laid the girl on the seat inside. "Get yourself some coffee," he advised as he pulled her into a sitting position. "You'll be alright." He nodded to the Cab Guide and was about to take off when he noticed her lying back down. "Damn," he muttered, and climbed into the taxi after her. "Alright, change of plans. I guess I'll drop you off."

She stirred and half-sat, looking at her surroundings. "It's an Air Cab!" she sighed delightedly.

"Well, it's not the Strahl," he snarked.

"So happy. . ."

Torn between exasperation and amusement, Balthier asked, "Got any money?"

"Never carry money."

"That's a bad habit," he scolded, as he reached into his pocket for some gil. She hummed softly in reply.

The Guide looked at him quizzically and stood at the control panel outside, waiting. "Where to, sir?"

"Where do you live?" he asked loudly.

She covered her ears and slurred, "Draklor Laboratory."

Balthier gave involuntary shudder at the mention of the place. "Now, come on, you're not that drunk." Even on the off chance she did come from the mad scientist's lab, there was no way in hell he would take her back there. If his crazy father couldn't keep track of his test subjects, he wasn't going to help him.

She laughed and leaned into his chest. "If you're so smart, I'm not drunk at all. I'm just...being...very...happy..."

"Hey, now, don't fall asleep again!" He tilted her chin so that she was facing him. "Look, girl, where do you want to go? Hmm? Where shall I take you?" He shook her head side to side gently, but quickly. "Where do you live? Huh? Come on!" He lightly slapped her face, and she moaned in annoyance.

"I...oh...Draklor…" she murmured, closing her eyes.

Balthier looked helplessly at the Cab Guide. "She lives in Draklor Laboratory."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you need clearance to go up there," the Guide stated in monotone.

"I realize that!" Balthier shook his head in defeat. Evidently, there was no easy way out of this predicament. "Just take us to Tsenoble."

"Tsenoble it is. Enjoy your trip, sir." The Guide pushed a button, closing the door, and they were off.

During the entire ride, Balthier held the young woman as she slept and wondered what the hell he was going to do with her when he got home. He knew what he wanted to do, of course, but he would never dream of actually doing it without her consent. The thought was absolutely repugnant to him. At last, the taxi stopped and the door opened. He dragged her out of the car and to her feet. He headed up the road to his hotel, and she followed him like a docile pet. The unlikely pair was met with several disapproving glances as he walked her up the stairs to his room. He let go of her hand for one second to get his key, and she wandered over to another door, her hand poised to knock. Quickly, he reached over and grabbed her hand, and she looked up at him, smiling innocently, "So...happy."

He muttered to himself as he fit the key in the lock and opened the door. "I must be out of my head." She followed him in, and he shut the door behind her.

She looked around the small room and frowned. "Is this the closet?"

Balthier sputtered, much affronted, "It's my room." He turned on a few lamps and their warm glow cast pleasant shadows from all the furniture.

She stumbled over to the bed and put a hand on the headboard to steady herself. "I'm terribly sorry to mention it, but the dizziness is getting worse. Can I sleep here?"

He smiled wryly and opened the door to his wardrobe. "That's the general idea."

"Can I have a silk nightgown with rosebuds on it?" she mused, tracing the pattern on the bed's embroidered coverlet.

"Sorry, love, but I haven't worn a nightgown in years." He pulled out a pair of brown silk pyjamas and plopped them unceremoniously on the bed. "I'm afraid you'll have to rough it tonight."

She smiled in delight, stroking them gently. "Pyjamas!" Then, she turned to him, arms raised above her head expectantly. "Will you help me get undressed, please?"

"Er...alright." The gods were mocking him. Balthier willed his pulse to slow down as he approached her and undid the top two buttons of her blouse. "Er, there you are; you can handle the rest." He turned and headed for an end table, where he poured himself a drink.

"May I have some?"

"No." He put his glass down and turned to her with a stern expression on his face. "Now look—"

"This is very unusual," she unbuttoned her cuffs. "I've never been alone with a man before, even  
with my dress on." She pulled her blouse out of her skirt. "With my dress off it's most unusual." She laughed. Balthier counted to five. "Hmm . . . I don't seem to mind." She began to undo her remaining buttons. "Do you?"

He closed his eyes to erase the image of her inadvertent striptease. No use in tempting fate. "I think I'll go out for a cup of coffee," he decided calmly. She made a slight noise of amusement, and he crossed to the bed, picking up a pillow and tossing it to the couch at the foot of the bed. "You'd better get to sleep." She started to sit down on the bed, but he pulled her back to her feet. "Oh, no, no, no." He pointed to the ottoman, leading her over to it ."On this one."

"How terribly nice," she said with a slight edge of sarcasm, continuing to fiddle with her buttons.

"Hey, hey!" he grabbed the pyjamas and handed them to her. "These are py-ja-mas. They're to sleep in. You're to climb into them, you understand?"

"Thank you," she said dryly, seeming almost lucid for the moment.

"And you do your sleeping on the couch, see?" he indicated the said piece of furniture. "Not on the bed; not on the chair; on the couch. Is that clear?"

"Do you know my favorite quote?"

He had lost her again. "Ah, you already recited that for me." He retrieved some blankets from  
the bed.

"'Your doom has been decided; to make Resistance would serve no end.' Gramis."

Balthier smirked. Oh, the irony. "It's Ondore, actually," he said, arranging the blankets on the couch.

She shook her head violently. "Gramis!"

"Look," he said, irritated. "If you just keep your mind off the books and on the pyjamas, everything will be alright."

"It's Gramis."

"Ondore," he countered as he headed for the door. "I'll be back in about ten minutes." Remembering, the alcohol he had left on the table, he retrieved it and took it with him.

"Gramis."

He shook his head and opened the door.

"You have my permission to withdraw."

He stopped in the doorway and turned just in time to see her skirt as it slid to the floor. "Thank you very much." He quickly slammed the door behind him, muttering. "Coffee . . . I need coffee."


	3. Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthier tells a likely story, and Reddas is not amused.

In a large ornately decorated room, three figures waited in a dismal silence. Ambassador Noah fon Ronsenberg sat at the head of the long, rectangular meeting-table, his hands drumming the polished mahogany impatiently. Countess Fran Viera sat on his right, shaking her head in despair while Basch stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder. All three of them were attired in their bedroom attire, although from their faces, one would think that none of them had slept for a very long time.

Suddenly, the door flew open and a servant marched in, looking grim.

"Well?" Noah demanded, his hand clenching into a nervous fist.

"No trace, Your Excellency."

Fran made a noise as if she had just been strangled. Basch rubbed her back consolingly.

"Have you searched the grounds?" asked the Ambassador.

"Every inch, sir, from the attics to the cellar."

Noah stood, his arms behind his back. "I must put you on your honor not to speak of this to anyone. I must remind you that the Princess is the direct heir to the throne. This must be classified as top-crisis secret. Have I your pledge?"

"Yes, sir." The servant bowed in assent.

"Very well." Noah turned to the others as the servant quickly exited, the door slamming behind him. "You say you've tracked down Doctor Cid?"

Basch nodded almost imperceptibly. "He is in custody as we speak."

"And?"

"He knows nothing. Nothing, at least, that he is willing to tell."

Noah shook his head gravely. "I am afraid we must notify His Majesty."

Bacsh's eyes were dark with sorrow. "Aye."

Fran just sighed heavily and buried her head in her hands.

****************************

Ashe drifted in and out of consciousness like an airship gliding through a storm. At times she could sense the hard wood beneath her, heard it creak with her slightest movement, but for the most part she was weightless as though she were lying on a cloud rather than a park bench. No matter which of the sensations she was experiencing, Ashe felt blissfully free and hoped she would never have to come back to reality. In one of her more coherent moments, she seemed to remember a stranger approaching her odd berth. It occurred to her that ignoring him would be  _ exceedingly _ rude, so she rattled off a few trite greetings in the hope that he would return them and hurry to whatever silly place he could be heading at this most unusual hour. Instead, he was quite impertinent to her, demanding that she rouse herself. When she refused, he began to poke and prod her in a most irritating fashion and even imply that she was drunk! Ha! The very idea! At this point, she decided it was no use reasoning with him and succumbed to darkness once more.

Next, she dreamed that the Countess and Basch were chasing her through the street with swords and other pointy objects. All she kept thinking as she ran was that she must get back to Doctor Cid.  _ He _ would protect her. But no matter how many people she asked, she could not seem to find Draklor Laboratory!

Some time later, she became aware that she was standing in a strange room. Giggling softly to herself, she stumbled over to what seemed to be a bed of some sort. After feeling around to make sure it was unoccupied, she collapsed on the soft mattress and knew no more.

************************

Balthier opened the door to his apartment, quietly, so as not to disturb his guest. Seeing her asleep in his bed instead of on the couch, he shook his head, face firmly planted in palm. Suddenly, he had an idea. Smiling evilly, he slammed the door shut with all the force he could manage. But it was no use: she was out cold. He walked over to the ottoman, mumbling obscenities as he dragged it next to the bed. He carefully pulled up his sleeves and grabbed the top sheet on which she was lying, rolling her from the bed onto the sofa. She stirred slightly, and he held his breath, hoping she wouldn't awaken completely and crawl back into bed. There was only so much of this a man could take.

Fortunately for him, she sighed in contentment and turned over to face the wall. "So happy..."

"The pleasure's mine," he muttered softly as he began to undress.

************************

Balthier was awakened by the tolling of the Angeles bells. He sat upright in bed, a horrified look on his face.  _ Oh, no, it couldn't be . . . _ He noticed the midday sun streaming cheerfully through the window and reached for the pocket watch on his bed stand. It was definitely noon. He had missed the Princess interview. "Damn!" He hopped out of bed and quickly threw some clothes on.

"Hmm?" was the questioning murmur from the bundle of linens on the couch.

"Silence, you—!" Balthier couldn't even come up with a fitting insult. He prayed that Vaan and Reddas hadn't noticed his absence as he headed out the door for their post-heist meeting.

He ran the several blocks to the Air Cab platform, and was dismayed to find that the taxi had just left. A few minutes later, another arrived, and he jumped in as soon as the door flew open. On the way to Nilbasse, he sat on the leather-clad bench, his legs twitching with impatience the entire way. Upon arrival, he shot out of the cab with the speed of his  _ Strahl _ on hyper-drive and dashed to the next neighborhood's seedy Molberry Bush Tavern.

His eyes were forced to readjust as he entered the dim building. For a moment, he thought he had lucked out. Reddas and Vaan must've slept through the morning as well. But, no, there they were, seated at a rickety table in the back corner, looking none too pleased. Gathering his courage and putting on his most winning smile, he approached them and said casually, "Good morning, gentlemen."

Reddas continued to scowl. "'Tis already afternoon, I'm afraid," he said, pointing to a nearby grandfather clock. "You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago."

"Yes, well," Balthier stalled, pulling up a chair. "The heist took a bit longer than I thought it would. But I'm here now, and that's all that matters, right?"

Reddas looked nonplussed. "You've already been to the interview?"

"Of course!" He exclaimed, grabbing Vaan's mug of beer and taking a swig. "What do you take me for?"

"Well, well, well," said Reddas, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "All my apologies."

Balthier shrugged noncommittally. "Not a problem." He got up to leave, but Reddas grabbed his arm.

"'Tis very interesting," Reddas turned to Vaan, "don't you think?" Vaan's eyes shifted back and forth uncomfortably; then he cast them to the floor.

"All in a day's work," said Balthier, tugging away from him. "Now kindly unhand me. You are wrinkling my cuffs." Reddas let go, and Balthier smoothed his sleeves lovingly.

"Tell me, Balthier." Reddas beckoned him with his finger. "Did you steal all the items on the list?"

Balthier scoffed, looking offended. "Did I steal all the...Really, Reddas, do you trust me at all?" He began to search his pockets. "I've got the list right here, somewhere."

"Don't disturb yourself," said Reddas as he unfolded a piece of parchment and spread it out on the greasy table. "I have a copy here." He cleared his throat and began to read. "'The Cameo of Lord Larsa.'"

Balthier patted his back pocket. "Got it right here."

"May I see it?" Reddas stretched out his hand expectantly.

"Er, actually," he stammered. "It  _ was _ in my pants, but I decided to take it back to the hotel for safe-keeping. No point in tempting pickpockets!" He laughed aloud at his own joke.

"I see," said Reddas, turning back to the list. "What about the Princess's ring? Were you able to get that?"

"Certainly," Balthier gave a sweeping bow. "Her Highness was rather easy to charm actually. I posed as a reporter per the plan, and asked her a few ridiculous questions. As soon as I bent in to kiss her hand, the ring just slid off into my breast pocket. She must've been in a most rare mood, for she didn't even notice."

"A most rare mood indeed," mused Reddas. Vaan stifled a chuckle. Balthier gave him a death glare, and he sobered immediately. Reddas ignored the interchange and continued, "By the way, what was she wearing?"

Balthier paused for a moment, temporarily stunned into silence. "Oh, you mean what did she have on?"

"'Tis usually what that means." Reddas noticed that Balthier was playing with his cuffs nervously. 

"What's the matter? Is it a little warm in here for you?"

"No, no, I just hurried over here." He took another gulp of beer.

"Hmm. Did you say she was wearing white?"

Balthier looked confused. "No, I didn't say that."

"She usually wears white."

"Oh, well. . . " Balthier hated feeling so out of it. "It was a...kind of a white."

"I think I know the dress you mean. It has a gold collar—"

"That's the one!" Balthier interrupted. "I didn't know exactly how to  describe it, but that's it."

"I think you described it very well. . ." said Reddas, leaning back in his chair. Suddenly, he leapt to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger at his partner. "In view of  the fact that Her Highness was taken violently ill at three o'clock this morning, put to bed with a high fever, and has had all her appointments for today cancelled!"

"And how would you know that?"

"Every streetear in town has been crying it since dawn this morning! Don't you ever stop to buy a paper?"

"Fine, you caught me." Balthier sulked, sitting down with his arms across his chest. "I overslept. It can happen to anybody! And since the interview never happened, there's no harm done, and we can go on planning our next job." Balthier sat up straight. "Wait a minute. Can I see this 'paper'"

Vaan nodded. "Here's a copy right here." He placed it on the table in front of his friend.

Balthier quickly scanned the document, which contained the headline, "Princess Taken Suddenly Ill." Underneath was a crude artist's representation of Princess Ashe. He sighed and was about to crumple the paper in his hand when he did a double take. Something about this girl seemed awfully familiar. If he could only put his finger on it. . .

"So what kept you up so late last night, Balthier?" asked Vaan, elbowing him gently. "New mistress?"

Balthier was about to shove him back in his place when he had a revelation. That's where he had seen the girl before! She was in his hotel room, snoring away on the sofa. "Sorry, mates, I've got to go!" He sprung to his feet and grabbed the paper, tucking it into his vest. As he dashed out the door, he called back over his shoulder, "Thanks for the drink, Vaan!"


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe awakens with no memory of the previous night, and Balthier is a perfect gentleman.

Balthier took the steps to his hotel room three at a time. His hand shook as he fit the key into the lock, nearly causing him to drop it in his excitement. After what seemed like ages, he finally got the door open. It creaked loudly as he entered, causing him to jump. He inwardly scolded the hinges as he shut the door softly and locked it. He crept over to the ottoman. He shook his head in mild amazement and just stared at her for a moment. Once again, he was captivated by the pleasant curve of her face, the slight upturn of her nose, and the silkiness of her gently bobbed hair. Then he pulled out the paper and looked at it again. There was a definite resemblance, but as the picture was a mere artist's conception of her beauty, there was no way to be sure. Balthier cursed in frustration and cast the paper aside. He sighed and sat down on the bed next to her. Leaning over her, he tickled her ears with a whisper, "Your Highness?" She muttered something and continued to sleep. He tried it again, slightly louder this time. "Your Royal Highness?"

She sighed deeply and turned over in bed, her eyes still tightly shut. "Yes, what is it?"

Balthier stood up abruptly, straightening his vest. He didn't try to hide the delighted smile that was spreading across his face. The Princess of Dalmasca had spent the night with him! The Princess of Dalmasca had slept in his bed! Suddenly, his face fell. Actually, she had slept on the hard, rickety sofa while he had slept on the bed. This would never do. Balthier chided himself for his lack of chivalry, as he smoothed the sheets. Carefully, he lifted the princess from the couch and took her around to the left side of the bed, setting her down and pulling the covers over her. He crossed to the dresser and pocketed the newspaper as she began to stir.

"Dear Doctor Bunansa..."

Balthier startled, wondering how she knew his name. Then, he remembered her blathering about Draklor last night and realized that she must have been in contact with his deranged dad somehow. He shuddered in loathing at the thought. Yet, evidently, her royal highness trusted his wayward parent, for Faram only knew what reason, so he decided to play along for the time being. He would deal with his pervert father later. "Oh, oh, sure, yes. Well, er...er, you're fine; much better. Is there anything you want?" Damn it! What about this girl made him so tongue-tied? Of course, she was royalty and all, but that hadn't given him the slightest pause last night when he thought she was any ordinary girl.

"So many things. . ."

Balthier ignored his own familiar longings. "Yes? Well, tell the doctor. Tell the good doctor everything."

Ashe stretched her arms above her head luxuriously, her eyes barely fluttering. "I dreamt, and I dreamt..."

"Yes? Well, er, what did you dream?" He took her wrist and pretended to feel for a pulse.

"I dreamt I was asleep on the street and... a young man came…and he was tall and strong and—" she made a face. "He was so mean to me."

Balthier dropped her arm in surprise. "He was?" He couldn't recall being especially cruel. He had just treated her the way he treated every other. . . Oh, that was the problem. Of course. She was the princess and probably used to people catering to her every whim. For the first time in a long while, Balthier felt what might be considered shame for his actions; although, as far as he could recall he had been a perfect gentleman. Damn this princess and her way of making him second-guess himself!

"Mm hmm," she exhaled blissfully, stifling a yawn. "It was wonderful." Balthier smirked in self-satisfaction. Now _that_ was more like it.

Ashe slowly opened her eyes, afraid of letting even the smallest vestiges of last night's adventure escape her consciousness. Immediately, she became aware of the cracked stucco ceiling directly above her head. She frowned and lowered her gaze until she became aware of a curiously smug young man with his arms crossed over his chest staring back at her. She squinted at him for a moment, wondering why he looked so familiar. She thought she had been talking to Doctor Cid just a second ago, and although the arch of his eyebrows and the shape of his chin were similar, his hair was much lighter and the lines of his face softer somehow. Vaguely, she considered the possibility that she was still dreaming. After all, hadn't she wondered what a young Doctor Cid might look like last night? But, no, the disrepair of the ceiling and the hardness of the mattress beneath her were hardly the stuff of fancy. Which begged the question, where in Ivalice was she?

"Good morning," he said. His voice had the same clipped Archadian accent as Doctor Cid's, but it was deeper and mellower, more suited for a lover's serenade than to giving shrill orders. Her skin prickled with an involuntary thrill at the thought.

Still not completely awake, she wondered, "Where's Doctor Cid?"

The young man cleared his throat. "Er, I'm afraid I don't know anybody by that name." He cast his eyes toward his boots and shuffled his feet slightly.

Ashe had a feeling that he knew why she was confused and was playing at oblivion for some reason. "Wasn't I talking to him just now?" she asked pointedly, trying to catch his eye.

"I'm afraid not."

Ashe sighed in frustration. Obviously, he wasn't going to give much information voluntarily. She felt silly resorting to guessing games, but in her current state of mental fog, it seemed the only logical thing to do. "Have I had an accident?" She wasn't experiencing any pain currently, but perhaps that was due to the drug Doctor Cid had given her. Yes, that explained why she was in a strange room, with a strange man. She must've injured herself during her escape.

"No." Once again, he was being maddeningly unhelpful.

"So, it's quite safe for me to sit up, then?" She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Perfectly."

She attempted to do so, but she was evidently still experiencing the residual effects of the sedative. She slumped back against the pillow, slightly dizzy and breathless. Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted by a pair of strong arms. Before she could figure out what was happening, she was propped against the headboard with the pillow in between for support. "Thank you," she managed to get out before her eyes locked with his. At once, she felt terribly exposed in every possible way. She quickly looked down, and was horrified to discover that she was wearing a pyjama shirt she had never seen before in her life. "Are these yours?" she asked, dreading the answer. He nodded. A surge of adrenaline raced through her as she quickly reached under the blankets. Her legs were mercifully covered with silk pants.

"Did you lose something?" he asked, with a slight twinkle.

Ashe's cheeks grew unbearably warm. The nerve of this fellow! "No." If he was going to play this game, she would, too. At least, it was highly unlikely that a man who took advantage of her would proceed to clothe her when he was done. She had to give him marks for self-control, even if he was an impudent bastard. Suppressing her annoyance, she inquired in her most regal tone, "Would you be so kind as tell me where I am?"

He seemed rather sheepish as he replied, "Well, this is what is laughingly known as my apartment."

His apartment? The Holy Father protect her! What kind of a mess had she gotten herself into?

"Did you bring me here by force?" she asked, horror blatant in all her features.

He actually laughed—the upstart! "No, no, no...quite the contrary."

"Have I been here all night...alone?" _Please say yes_ , she thought.

"If you don't count me, yes."

His superior smile was really beginning to annoy her. Not to mention the fact that he actually had given her the answer she had wanted, if you looked at it a certain way. On the other hand, there was something about him that made her trust him implicitly, despite his cocky demeanor. Somehow she knew that this outward arrogance was his way of shielding a gentle heart that had been wounded long ago. Knowing this, she found she couldn't be angry at him for long, no matter what he said or did.

"So I've spent the night here—with you," she stated resignedly.

His smile vanished, as if suddenly he saw the situation from her point of view. "I don't know if I'd use those words exactly, but from a certain angle, yes."

He looked her straight in the eyes, and deep down she knew that he hadn't compromised her virtue in the slightest bit. She colored slightly to think that she had suspected him. But then this whole situation was just so ridiculous. She giggled, the drug obviously still impeding her emotions. She presented her hand to the stranger, hoping he would shake it rather than kiss it. "How do you do?"

He clasped her hand gently, but firmly and shook. "How do you do?

"And you are?"

"I play the leading man," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. He let his fingertips linger on hers as he drew his hand away. "The name's Balthier."

"Delighted." Ashe could feel her cheeks begin to burn again. Argh. How could she have fallen for such a lame line?

"You don't know how delighted I am to meet you," said the man who called himself Balthier, and she felt flattered in spite of herself.

Deciding it was time to restore some semblance of order to the situation, Ashe gestured to the chair beside the bed. "You may sit down."

One of Balthier's eyebrows shot up playfully. "Well, thank you very much." He sat down on the bed next to her and grinned like a mad thing. Really, he was the most impossible man! She scooted over quite a bit, making sure that they didn't touch as he settled himself. As wonderful as the warmth of his hand had felt, some boundaries had to be set if she didn't want to lose her heart completely. "What's your name?" she heard him ask.

"Er..." Ashe racked her brain as she tried to come up with something that didn't sound too contrived. "You may call me Amalia." Right. Because Amalia didn't sound like Ashelia at all. Ashe was disgusted with her own lack of imagination.

Balthier didn't seem to notice anything amiss however. "Thank you, Amalia." He stood up and walked over to the nearby table. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Mm. Coffee. That sounded good. But wait a minute, what was she thinking? "What time is it?" she asked, dreading the answer. She would much rather stay here and enjoy Balthier's hospitality—as infuriating as he was—than return to the embassy, but she had to face reality again sometime.

"About one thirty." His tone was casual, almost flippant.

Oh, to be that unconcerned about schedules and timetables if just for one day! That would be heaven. But what had he just said? "One thirty! I must get dressed and go!" Recalling her own busy itinerary, she bolted out of bed and headed for the door. Suddenly, she remembered that she was still in his pyjamas. Hastily, she grabbed a blanket and covered herself, looking about for her things.

"Why? What's your hurry?" he countered as he poured her a cup. "There's lots of time."

Ashe's breath caught in her throat. "Is there, Balthier?" she wondered aloud. Just at that moment, he turned to look at her. Their eyes met as before, and Ashe's heart pounded madly in her chest. Oh, how she wished there was! Hastily, she looked away from him and willed her pulse to slow. "What I mean is I-I've been quite enough trouble to you as it is."

"Trouble?" he asked, and she dared a quick look back at his face. He was smiling gently now. "You're not what I'd call trouble."

"I-I'm not?" she stammered, feeling more pleased than she cared to admit, even to herself.  
Balthier slowly turned away, as if realizing how uncomfortable he was making her. "I'll run a bath for you." He disappeared into the bathroom just as she noticed her clothes on the floor. She retrieved them and shook them out, trying to remedy any wrinkles. As she did so, a sharp clatter occurred as a metallic object fell to the floor. Ashe set the bundle on the dresser and bent to retrieve the shiny object. Why, it was her locket! Ashe glowed with sudden pride. Not only had this young man not taken advantage of her physically, but he had not even stolen her valuable golden locket. Just then, Balthier returned to the room, and she felt an inexplicable desire to throw her arms around him. She restrained herself however, as she noticed his gaze drop from her face to the jewelry in her hand. The startled look on his face indicated to her that he had not even known of the locket's existence. So much for him being a pinnacle of virtue.

"Something the matter?" he asked. The question was innocent enough, but she noted that he was still eyeing the necklace greedily. So that was the way it was. No sooner had she began to trust him completely then he showed his true colours.

"No, not exactly," she began hesitantly as her fist closed around the locket, much to his apparent disappointment. "It's just that-well- I thought I had lost this, so I was quite worried for a moment."

"Surely it is not worth all that much," he prodded, "for you to have worn it out on the streets."

Ashe bristled slightly at his accusation of her carelessness. "Actually, its value is more sentimental than otherwise," she insisted, in an attempt to defend herself. Suddenly, she had an idea. "That and it is the key to unlocking—" She stopped herself in time to see his reaction.  
Balthier feigned disinterest, but she saw the spark of avarice in his eyes. "Unlocking what?" he asked casually.

"'Tis of no matter," she sighed and retrieved her clothing. Quickly, she entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her, locking it. She smiled to herself as the beginnings of a plan began to unfurl in her mind like the petals of a spring blossom. She had no intention of going back to the embassy, not just yet anyway. And what better way to achieve a well-earned holiday than to have this brash young thief "steal" her for a day or two? It would give her keepers some time to fret and realize how much they depended on her. By baiting Balthier with the promise of further treasure, she could use him as her temporary bodyguard and transportation around Archades. He had already earned enough of her trust to be charged with that much. As she stepped into the bathtub, Ashelia quickly drowned out the nagging voices of Duty and Honour inside her with a silent shout of "Freedom!" It didn't seem to occur to her at all that this Balthier might have feelings that could be crushed by her scheme. Neither did she take into account how dangerously close she had already come to falling in love with him.


	5. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaan has a hickey, Balthier has a panic attack, and Ashe has it all under control.

Balthier fairly leapt down the stairs of the apartment and into the courtyard. Running toward the aircab station, he whistled a cheerful tune, waving at everyone he came across. As soon as he arrived, he displayed his chops to the attendant and hopped into a cab, muttering that he wished he hadn't lent out his hover bike. A short time later, he stood outside the door of Vaan's fleabag flat, pounding the portal with all he was worth.

"What is it?" came an annoyed voice as Vaan cracked the door open, leaving the rusty sliding lock in place.

"Look, Vaan," Balthier began in his most businesslike voice. "I need you at my place to work a new angle with me. Can you get over there in about fifteen minutes?"

Vaan shook his mane of tousled blond hair. "Oh, no, I can't come now, Balthier. I'm busy."

"You don't look busy to me," he replied with a smile that could charm the scales off of a Focalor. Then he frowned, suddenly noticing that his partner in crime was wearing naught but a towel wrapped around his waist

"No, really," Vaan insisted, jerking his head towards the inside of his apartment. "I'm up to my ears in work."

"Obviously," Balthier muttered, glancing at what seemed to be like teeth marks on Vaan's right ear. Vaan grinned sheepishly. "Well, I can't discuss this in present company," he continued, peering over Vaan's shoulder to where Penelo was lounging on the sofa. "One word in the wrong quarter and this whole thing might blow sky-high. I've found a one stop treasure-trove, that's all I can tell you. It might be a worth million gil or more-I'm not sure, but it's big, and I need your help!"

"But I can't come now," whined Vaan. Noting the pleading look on the sky pirate's face, he ventured a compromise. "Why don't we meet up at the Molberry Bush later, say three o'clock? Your treasure-trove won't have moved by then, will it?"

Balthier grumbled his assent. "But you best not be late or you'll miss out on a golden opportunity."

"I promise I'll be there." Vaan crossed his heart solemnly. "Now why don't you go plan our heist-you have a better head for that sort of thing than I do-and I'll see you at three." With that, he slammed the door unceremoniously in Balthier's face.

Balthier's glare could've bored holes into the rickety wooden slab before him. The leading man was not used to be treated in this fashion! Of course, said leading man also had better things to do than stare at inanimate objects. Realising this, he high-tailed it out of there back to his hotel via the marketplace, where he acquired various comestibles.

When he returned, he managed to open the door one-handed, the other arm being loaded down with a bag full of groceries. "I brought breakfast!" he shouted, setting the food on the table. "Fresh fruit and—" He paused for a moment, suddenly aware how quiet the room was. Even with the bathroom door shut, he should be able to hear _something_ , especially after having disrupted the whole complex with his shouting. He crept over to the washroom door and peered through the keyhole, just to reassure himself that she was still _there_ of course. His eyes wouldn't linger on her exposed body...for long, anyway. But all he could see was a pile of towels on the floor. Balthier stood up with a shock. Had she managed to escape during the short time he had been away? Panicked, he headed to the veranda, hoping he might spot a glimpse of her in the street. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. There she was, standing on the balcony with her elbows resting gracefully on the railing and her regal head reposing on her slender hands.

"There you are!" It came out a little louder than he intended, due to the fact that he was trying to speak over the sound of his racing heart.

She turned toward him, her soft blond hair swishing gently across her shoulders. So much for trying to calm his heart.

"I was looking at all the people out here," she explained with a wistful sigh. "It must be wonderful to live in a place like this." Her eyes glazed over with longing as she smiled vacantly at him.

He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her. "It has its moments…" Her eyes suddenly focused on him and he found himself being drawn into them. He straightened up, trying to regain his composure. "But I really don't live here all the time. I-" he struggled to find a way to describe his current situation. "I'm sort of on holiday," he finished smoothly, cranking the knob on the charm.

"How lovely," she breathed, unconsciously leaning in toward him. Their lips were mere inches apart when the nearby clock struck two. Ashe shook her head quickly as if waking from a dream. "I have to go," she said quietly.

Balthier was still lost in the fog of his fantasies. "Hmm?"

"I only waited to say goodbye." She raised the volume and pitch of her voice slightly to be sure he was paying attention

It worked. Balthier's mind was back on the balcony with her in an instant. "Goodbye?" He seemed puzzled and genuinely shocked. How could any woman resist his charm? "But we've only just met." Desperate to get her to stay, he gestured towards the banquet inside. "How about some breakfast?"

A pained expression appeared on her face. "I'm sorry, I haven't time."

"Must be a pretty important date to run off without eating," he quipped.

"It's not a date," she retorted, slightly offended, "but yes, it is important." She walked past him and back into the apartment.

"I'd be happy to escort you to wherever it is you're going," he said, offering her an arm.  
She raised her eyebrows slightly at this suggestion. "That's alright, thank you. I think I can find the place." She headed for the front door. When she got there, she turned to him again. "Thank you for allowing me to sleep here."

"Think nothing of it, milady," he said with a sweeping bow.

"It was very considerate of you." Her eyes travelled to the ottoman at the other end of the room. "You must have been awfully uncomfortable on that couch."

Balthier cleared his throat rather obviously. "No, no," he insisted. "Do it all the time."

He couldn't be quite certain, but he thought he saw her smirk for a moment before presenting her hand. "Goodbye, Balthier."

This time he couldn't resist. He took her hand, raised it to his lips, and pressed it to his lips tenderly. "Goodbye," he whispered, as she walked out of his door—and presumably his life.  
Ashe took her time going down the steps of his building. As far as she could tell, her plan to get a free escort was working beautifully. The treasure-hungry pirate was hooked, she could tell. It was only a matter of time before. . . Just then, she heard footsteps pattering behind her and turned in fake surprise to see him standing there.

"Small world," he murmured, rocking backward slightly to avoid a collision.

She nodded in agreement. Suddenly, she seemed to remember something. "Oh, I- I almost forgot: can you lend me some money?"

Balthier blinked for a moment; then his eyes lit up with recognition. "That's right. You didn't have any last night, did you?" She shook her head and he reached into his vest pocket. "How much was it that you wanted?"

She pondered this for a moment. "I don't know how much I need," she admitted, craning her neck to count the bills. "How much have you got?"

He frowned, clasping the currency to his chest. "That's quite a personal question, young lady." If there was anything he was sensitive about, it was his current financial condition. She stared unblinkingly at him until he relaxed his grasp on the money and handed her all of it. "Well, er, here are five thousand-gil notes."

Ashe was pleasantly surprised by his generosity, thinking that he must really like her more than she imagined. Then, a voice inside of her seemed to say: _Of course he's behaving kindly towards you now. It's his way of disarming you until he steals that priceless treasure your locket supposedly protects._ She sighed inwardly, wondering when she had become such a cynic.

"Is something amiss?" he asked, his eyes still focused on the bills.

"No, it's nothing," she said lightly. "I was just wondering if you can you really spare all that money." She half expected him to grab the gil and make a dash for it.

Balthier shrugged as though he gave away similar amounts all the time (which was the furthest thing from the truth). "Sure I can. There's plenty more where that came from!" He gave a very fake-sounding laugh.

"Don't worry," she reassured him with a pat on the arm. "I'll arrange for it to be sent back to you. What is your address?"

He stiffened slightly at her touch, perhaps embarrassed that she had seen through his act of nonchalance. "Like I said, I'm on holiday. I probably won't be if you try to reimburse me. It matters not."

Ashe tried to hide an amused smile. "Well, if you're certain, I thank you. Then, I suppose this really is goodbye." She waved airily and continued down the steps, certain that he would follow. This really was easier than she had imagined it would be. She almost felt guilty for leading him on like this, but after all, he was just a common thief who was planning to steal her jewelry. She was actually treating him better than he deserved.

When she got to the bottom, she looked both ways, trying to decide which would be the better part of the neighborhood to explore. She decided to turn left, and as her foot touched the street, her pulse began to quicken for the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours. She mused whether this much excitement in so short a time could possibly be healthy for a person and briefly considered abandoning the whole adventure and crawling back to the embassy. But deep inside, she knew she would always regret doing so. This might be her last chance to exercise a little freedom in a very long time, perhaps even forever. Alright, she was resolved on this matter at least, but did she really need to drag the thief into this? After all, he had been kind to her, in his charming roguish way. She had almost determined to give up the charade and bid him a final farewell when suddenly she felt a stab of pain somewhere in her middle regions. She had no idea why, but the thought of leaving him behind suddenly seemed unbearable. No, she would string him along for a while longer, just for fun. As cruel as it seemed, it was better than the alternative. When he finally realized who she was, he would understand and be grateful that she hadn't done anything worse than lie to him about a silly locket. At least she hoped.


	6. Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe gets a makeover, and Balthier gets jealous.

Balthier lingered on the side street that led to his flat, his eyes following the princess as she cautiously turned left onto the busy shopping thoroughfare. As stealthily as he could, he followed behind her, his soft leather boots padding soundlessly on the cobblestone. He froze immediately as she hesitated at the corner, momentarily intimidated by the hustle and bustle of the busy Tsenoble marketplace. Suddenly, a hoverbike much like his own veered toward her. Balthier cringed, wishing he were close enough to pull her out of the way, but he needn’t have worried. The princess deftly sidestepped the oncoming vehicle, hopping onto a railed ledge to avoid it. He breathed a sigh of relief and then smiled at her quick reflexes. This girl was no fool, and she wasn’t afraid to take risks to avoid an incident. He was liking her more and more all the time.

Balthier could have sworn he had barely blinked, but she was suddenly several hundred meters ahead of him, disappearing out of sight in the crowd. Panicked, he hurried after her, pushing his way through the throng of shoppers and earning himself more than a few cross looks. Let them hate him all they wanted; he was not going to lose her as he thought he had when he returned with breakfast. He didn’t think his heart could take such disappointment. Not to mention his pocketbook, which is what this whole mad scheme was about after all.

Presently, he caught up enough to her that he felt he could relax again. Pretending to look at an outdoor display of discounted weapons of dubious quality, he surreptitiously watched her stroll between a few nearby produce carts. He dared to narrow the gap between them and was nearly discovered when she stopped to sample some of the luscious looking fruit. He stepped backwards, nearly knocking over a melon vendor who retaliated by insisting that he needed to take at least two of the large, round fruit home with him. “I don’t disagree with you,” he quipped as he made his escape, “but I’ve already made my selection.”

When he was able to get her in his line of sight again, she was trying on a pair of Winged Boots. He stifled a chuckle at her surprise when the boots began to levitate her off the ground. He had no idea why she would possibly need such a quaint set of footwear, but she purchased them anyway, apparently much pleased at the way they fit her regal feet. The corner of his mouth quirked slightly at the thought of the imaginary traps she could now easily avoid, but his smirk quickly vanished when he remembered the speed bonus the shoes granted their wearer. He would have to be extra cautious if he didn’t want to lose her now.

They were now approaching a plaza with a large ornamental fountain. Ashe sat down for a moment on the ledge and dipped her hand into the cool clear water. She seemed to daydream as she gazed at her reflection and let her fingers trail through the coins that lay on the bottom. He smiled to see her in such a peaceful and dreamlike state, almost as she had been the previous evening. He only wished he had the slightest bit of artistic talent so he could capture the instant forever. He seemed to recall that Penelo had an inkling of ability with a pen and paper. Perhaps he should solicit her aid with this endeavour.

All too soon, she rose and wandered to a ladies’ dress shop. She surveyed her appearance in the full-length looking glass that stood just inside the window and made a face. With a determined stride, she entered the establishment. Deciding he would be much too obvious if he followed her inside, he stood just outside the door, leaning casually against the ancient stone wall. He waited there for what seemed like ages, watching all the people who passed by. After a while, he caught sight of a familiar blond head in the crowd.

“Penelo!” he called, waving his arm frantically.

Penelo turned to look in his direction. “Balthier!” she said cheerily as she hurried over to where he was standing. “What’s new in the world?”

“Oh, nothing much,” he replied casually. He fiddled with his cuffs as Penelo placed her hands on her hips.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” she said, wagging a finger in his face. “Vaan told me you were going to meet up later at the Molberry Bush.”

“That’s true,” he said with a casual grin. “What is so strange about two mates having a drink together?”

Penelo rocked back on her heels. “Nothing, I suppose,” she said cautiously.

“If you are so concerned about us getting into mischief,” he countered, “then why don’t you join us?” He gave her what he hoped was his most persuasive expression.

“Hmm,” said Penelo. She tapped her finger contemplatively against her lip. “I may have to take you up on that offer.”

“Please do,” he coaxed. His ears perked at the sound of a loud unfamiliar accent coming from inside the dress shop. “Now run along, and I’ll see you at three?” His voice rose hopefully on the last word. She seemed unconvinced, so he added an extra incentive. “You and Vaan can borrow my hoverbike, if you like.”

Her eyes widened in delight. Balthier rarely let his bumbling partner drive his beloved bike, so this was truly a magnanimous gesture. If this didn’t persuade her, nothing would. “Why not?” she finally agreed, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “But just know that I have my eye on you.”

“I’d be very disappointed if you didn’t,” he said softly, and she blushed as she walked away.

Now that was taken care of, he could pay more attention to what was happening inside. He dared a peek through the open doorway and spied a dark-haired gentleman with bronzed skin conversing with the princess, who was now wearing a white halter top and a bright magenta mini-skirt. The pale flesh of her midriff was exposed, and Balthier was forced to stifle a groan of longing.

“You musician, maybe?” the man said in what Balthier recognised as a Rozarrian accent. “You artist, aha? Painter?” He rolled his r’s with efficiency and grace. Ashe smiled and shook her head. “I know: you model!”

She laughed, a fluttering sound as delicate as a butterfly, and Balthier’s hackles immediately went on full alert. Who did this brazen foreigner think he was?

“Thank you,” she said, clearly flattered.

The Rozarrian man slowly circled her, making small adjustments to her outfit. Balthier’s teeth clenched as the stranger’s fingers brushed against her bare skin. Finally, he seemed satisfied with his work. “It's perfect,” he announced, and she turned to look in the glass once again.

“Oh,” she breathed in surprise and delight. She turned slowly from side to side, causing her hair to swish attractively against her shoulders.

“Y-y-you be nice without long dress,” the man exclaimed excitedly. “Now, it's cool, hmm? Cool?”

Balthier frowned. He was having a hard time believing this shopkeep’s knowledge of the common Ivalice language was this poor. He was obviously pretending to be an idiot to garner sympathy or some such. He crossed his arms defensively against the Rozarrian’s innocent charms.

“Yes, it's just what I wanted,” Ashe agreed. She began to gather up her other clothes, tying them into a bundle made out of her skirt.

“Thank you,” he said in a pleased tone.

Balthier noticed his rival’s liquid brown eyes shifting slightly. _Here it comes,_ he thought bitterly.

“Now, why you not come dancing tonight with me? You should see, it's so nice: it's on a boat on the Phon Coast. Moonlight, music, romantico! It's very, very…” Ashe turned to look at him, and he seemed to forget what he was saying mid-sentence. Balthier made a noise of irritation deep in his throat and rolled his eyes. “Please, you come?” he finished lamely.

“I wish I could,” she said with genuine sadness.

“Oh.”

As Ashe reached deep into the pocket of her skirt-bundle, the dressmaker’s gaze turned abruptly to the door. Balthier tried to duck out of sight, but he was sure the other man had seen him. She pulled out a crumpled gil note and handed it to him.

“But, but, your friends,” the Rozarrian said, and Ashe blinked in confusion. “I think they not recognise you.”

She followed his glance to the doorway, but Balthier was now flush against the side of the building and not visible from her vantage point. “No,” she said distractedly, “I don't think they will.”

Balthier ventured another glance around the corner as the man pocketed the money. “Oh, thank you very much,” he said with a sweeping bow.

“Thank _you_ ,” she returned, beaming. As she headed for the door, Balthier quickly turned toward the shop window and pretended to be interested in a skirt that was hanging there.

“Al-Cid Margrace make best dress in Archades, no? ” He heard the lecherous tailor call after her. “Ah, er, you no forget: after nine o'clock, I'll be there dancing on the boat-remember: Phon Coast. If you come, you will be most pretty of all girl!”

“Thank you. Goodbye,” Ashe said, and Balthier was pleased to note an edge of annoyance in her tone now. He smiled saucily as he slowly pivoted so he wouldn’t lose sight of her in the crowd.

“Goodbye,” Al-Cid shouted, disappointment lacing each syllable.

“Better luck next time, mate,” Balthier mocked before following her once again.

By the time he caught up with her, she had purchased a bottle of Ambrosia potion from a streethawk. She carefully opened the lid and sniffed the contents. Then she took a hesitant sip, one that Balthier knew would be far too much for such a potent brew. Her eyes widened as she swallowed. The few creases on her young face relaxed, leaving her skin glowing. A delighted smile spread across her pink lips. Balthier hoped that a repeat of last night’s shenanigans wouldn’t be forthcoming. He thought she would probably be just fine. Ambrosia was known to cause exhilaration, not stupor. It was typically used for a jolt of adrenaline during particularly long and grueling battles. Apparently, the princess didn’t know that and had drunk it simply for pleasure. She seemed to realise that she shouldn’t have any more, for she corked the bottle and stowed it in her bundle of clothes.

A flower seller approached her, offering a bouquet of delicate wildflowers. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady!” he called, and Balthier felt a muscle in his jaw twitch in irritation. “Only fifty gil.”

Ashe shook her head. “No money.”

Balthier scoffed. Had she really gone through that entire wad of gil already?

The peddler blinked innocently at her. “No?”

“No. I'm sorry, I've really no money. Look.” She reached into the bundle and showed him a single copper coin. “I'm sorry.”

The vendor seemed more disappointed than she did. However, he had pity on her and offered her a single blossom. She tried to give him the coin, but he waved his hand in refusal. “Keep it,” he insisted.

Ashe seemed touched by his simple gesture. “Thank you,” she murmured and sniffed the flower in appreciation.

She found a stone bench and sat down to admire her gift. Balthier decided that she would probably remain there for at least a few minutes, so he ducked around a corner and pretended to be on a casual stroll of the area. He walked by her once, and then performed what he hoped was a convincing double take.

“Well, it's you!” he exclaimed in faux shock.

Ashe tucked the flower behind her ear as she turned to look at him. “Balthier!” she called in genuine delight, and his skin tingled pleasantly at the way his name sounded on her lips.

He looked her up and down appraisingly, raising an eyebrow at her new outfit. “Or is it?”

“Do you like it?” she said softly, the slightest hint of pink tinging her delicately sculpted cheeks.

He sat down next to her and leaned in so close that he could hear her breathe. “Very much,” he whispered into her ear, and she shivered with pleasure. He waited a moment to allow his seductive words their full effect. Then, he sat back and abruptly changed the subject. “So that was your mysterious appointment?”

She hung her head. “Balthier: I have a confession to make.”

“Confession?” he said with too much excitement in his voice. He would have to watch that.

“Yes, I…” Her silver eyes found his, and he felt pinned down by their steady intensity. “I ran away last night, from school.”

 _School?_ He tried to hide a smirk. So that’s how she wanted to play this. Very well then. “Oh, what was the matter?” he asked casually. “Trouble with the teacher?”

She seemed affronted at the very idea. Well, she _was_ a princess, after all. “No, nothing like that,” she insisted.

“Well, one typically doesn’t simply run away from school for nothing,” he pointed out, and she shrugged in assent.

“It was only meant to be for an hour or two,” she explained. “But they gave me something last night to make me sleep.”

“Oh, I see.” The wheels slowly began to turn inside Balthier’s head. As far as he knew, there was only one “doctor” associated with the Dalmascan embassy, and he had no medical training whatsoever. Balthier’s fingers tightened into a fist at the thought his deranged father had come anywhere near this delicate creature.

“I'd better catch an aircab and go back,” Ashe was saying as she got to her feet.

Balthier startled at once from his morbid thoughts. “Before you do,” he began, jumping from the bench, “why don't you take a little time for yourself?”

Ashe blinked at him and seemed to consider the suggestion. “Perhaps another hour…” she said uncertainly.

“Come on, Amalia,” he chided, imbuing his voice with that husky edge that all the women loved. “Live dangerously: take the whole day!”

Her eyes widened, and her face seemed to glow even more than when she had drunk the Ambrosia. “I could do some of the things I've always wanted to do,” she gasped.

“Like what?” He had to keep her inside the fantasy or her dutiful side was bound to take over again.

“Oh, you can't imagine…” she sighed with longing. “I'd like to do just whatever I'd like, the whole day long!” She laughed perhaps a little louder than she intended and covered her mouth in embarrassment. As awkward as it was, that laugh was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

“You mean, things like shopping for clothes? Drinking Ambrosia?” he prompted, and then quickly winced. She didn’t know he had been watching her when she bought the potion.

Fortunately, she was so caught in the moment that she didn’t notice his gaffe. “Yes, and I'd like to sit at a sidewalk cafe; and look in shop windows; walk in the rain!” She looked up at the clear blue sky and laughed again. “Or not,” she said with a shrug, and he couldn’t help a small chuckle himself. “I could have fun and maybe some excitement.” She stopped suddenly and searched his face for approval. “It doesn't seem much to you, does it?”

Balthier swallowed, hoping that the subtle motion would calm down his loudly thumping heart. “It's great,” he said thickly. Her eyes wandered back to his, and she smiled so sweetly that he thought he would die right then and there. “Tell you what,” he said slowly and deliberately so she would know he was in earnest. “Why don't we do all those things-together?”

Her gaze lit with hope for a second, but it was quickly extinguished. “Don't you have to work?” she asked sadly.

“Work?” he scoffed, crossing his arms in defiance of the term. “Certainly not! I told you I’m on holiday.”

“But you don’t want to do a lot of silly things,” she protested.

He reached out and firmly grasped her hand in his. “Don't I?” He grinned and led her down the street toward the aircab station. “First wish: one sidewalk cafe, coming right up-I know just the place: The Molberry Bush!”


End file.
